Not quite the end
by 20BlueRoses
Summary: His little brother is falling apart and Cal's not in a position to help. Set after the heartbreaking 'Reap the Whirlwind part 2'


So, even I don't fully get the concept of this story. Let's just blame the emotional turmoil of losing Cal :'(

Anyway, I really wanted to write something in tribute to our brothers and how amazing they've been and even though this isn't quite what I had in mind, I'm hoping I've done some justice to their storyline. I'm working on something else which I'm hoping will be better than this and certainly less weird, but it needs some serious editing before it sees the light of day.

If you're not too heartbroken from the last two weekends, I'd really appreciate you leaving a review to let me know what you think.

* * *

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* * *

He doesn't want to do this. He doesn't want to watch his little brother fall apart. He doesn't want to see the anguish on Ethan's face, see the way his mouth twists into a howl, hear the noisy sobs, the repeated no-no-no. He cannot bear the sound of his name on his brother's lips as a question: how could you leave me, why would you hurt me so much more this time?

And yet, Ethan's pain was the one thing he had been trying to spare.

"I'm sorry," he says to the room, to Ethan, to his own mangled body on the bed. "I'm sorry, okay, I screwed up."

There's no sign that Ethan has heard him. He doesn't know if he was expecting him to, doesn't know what this situation is, trapped watching his baby brother cry. Perhaps he's in his own makeshift hell. Perhaps he's not dead, not really, just waiting for the moment he can crawl back into his body and continue trying to breathe through the waves of pain.

But he stays where he is, there but not really there, and watches the tremble in his little brother's hand as his fingers smooth rain drenched hair away from his forehead. Ethan's sobs are strangled, a raw sound that Cal hasn't heard from his brother before, not even in the worst times after their Mum, after Emilie, after that godawful diagnosis.

No, this is a sound reserved solely for Cal.

And that breaks him and fixes him all at once.

"Nibbles," he whispers. "Ethan. It's okay, I'm here. I'm still here."

He knows now that Ethan won't respond, but as his brother half rests, half collapses on top of his motionless body, he wonders whether his words have somehow got through. Ethan buries his face amid the folds of tunic, roughly thrust to his neck, and their bodies, both broken, rock with the force of the younger brother's sobs.

All Cal wants now is to be back inside his old body. He can take the pain, take the long months of recovery, the endless police probing. He'll take all that if only it means he can wrap his arms around his little brother and hold him tight. He wants to be able to tell Ethan it'll be okay and for the sentiment to be true.

He doesn't want to be dead.

But then there's a pause in Ethan's heartbroken moans and Cal's focus is back on his brother. He watches as Ethan raises his head. It seems to require all of his strength and so even though his face is no longer hidden, their chests remain flat against each other, his brother only just managing to keep his weight off the injuries from Cal's failed thoracotomy.

Ethan stares at his body and Cal does the same. There's no denying he's a mess. The blood stained sheet is hiding the worst wounds of all and he can only hope his brother has enough sense to leave them covered. But Ethan's frozen, his eyes on Cal's face, on the stark red cut on his cheek, the tube secured down his throat, the waxy ashen pallor of his skin. A tear drips off the end of Ethan's chin and lands on Cal's neck.

His lips part so slightly. It's only a whisper but Cal hears.

"Caleb."

"Ethan," he replies.

"Oh, Caleb." A whimper, another winding tear. "Why?!" Ethan's louder now but his voice breaks with every word. "Why?! Why?!" As Ethan's words deteriorate into noisy, heart wrenching sobs, he rests his cheek against Cal's.

"For you, little bro," Cal says to no-one. "For you."

* * *

Their sofa looks all wrong now. It looks too big. Ethan is scrunched by the right-hand armrest but that isn't his end of the sofa, it's Cal's, and that looks wrong to Cal too, his neat little brother sitting among the same toast crumbs he'd been waiting to get told off for.

Apart from the steady stream of tears, Ethan isn't moving. He's barely even blinking. His cheeks are damp and pale yet red and his glasses are nowhere to be seen. The flat is silent. Their flat is never silent and even though the noise is usually attributed to Cal, it makes no sense that it can be so quiet now when every emotion is so loud.

He wants to scream and shout and cry until everything returns to normal.

Instead, he watches as Ethan's fist curls and uncurls and his little brother's chest starts to heave. In the same instant that Ethan's knuckles hit the sofa a single word is spat from his mouth.

"Liar."

"What?"

There's a second contact between Ethan's fist and the sofa. "You're a liar, Caleb." His voice is alien: childlike and high-pitched. "You said- you said you'd never leave me," Ethan whimpers. "You lied."

Cal tries a response even though he knows it's futile. "I'm sorry, I-"

"Now I'm all on my own."

And then Ethan seems to crumple and again Cal is forced to watch as his little brother's face contorts. It's the worst thing he's ever seen, he thinks, worse than when he saw him half-dead after the car crash. Ethan's mouth is locked in a scream, his eyes shut tight, forehead creased. And when the sobs come they're noisy and bitter and they sound like his world has ended.

And perhaps it has.

"Ethan," Cal whispers. "Ethan, please don't-" He falters. Don't what? Don't cry? Because, sure as hell, he'd be in a far worse mess if their positions were reversed. Don't be angry? But of course Ethan is angry because Cal has left him and not just left him to go chase a girl or an exciting new career, but left him forever, left him to deal with a nightmare future all on his own. Oh, God, Ethan, he thinks, don't despair, don't give up, don't let yourself fall.

But Ethan's sobs are so heavy that he doubles over. And even though Cal hadn't wanted to see that grief on his little brother's face, it's worse now that his face is hidden, now that it's left to his imagination. It sounds like Ethan is retching. It sounds as if he can't breathe.

And he'd caused that pain to his little brother. He had. And it was worse than anything he'd ever done before, the stolen girlfriends, pilfered money, the insults, jibes, taking him for granted; worse than all of that put together and then quadrupled. He had caused his little brother's heart to break beyond repair.

He had no excuse for Ethan not to hate him, he just needed a reason that it wouldn't last forever.

"I love you," Cal offers.

He knows Ethan can't hear him, and he gets that, he really does. But Ethan has stopped sounding as if he's choking and has lifted his head enough to rest it in his arms.

"I love you," Cal says again. "I'm so sorry, baby bro. I mean it. I swear I mean it."

A whine comes from somewhere in the middle of the crumpled heap of Ethan.

"Cal," he sobs. "I need you. Why did you leave me? _Why?_ "

"I didn't want to," Cal says.

Ethan's shoulders are still heaving, his crying is still punctuated with noises that sound barely human and his fists remain clenched, but Cal, somehow, feels his brother calmed while he was talking

And so he continues.

"I know you won't believe me," he says. "Hey, I can't blame you! Cal Knight doing something for his brother for once! But I promise you, Nibbles, it's all true. I tried to help. That bastard was out for you. I- I didn't want you to get hurt."

Ethan falls sideways onto the sofa and brings his legs up to his chest. Cal gets a glimpse of his face and it's tearstained but he looks like his Ethan again.

"And I was scared, Ethan. Even when the knife went in, I was scared for your safety. You know what I'm like, I always fail to see the bigger picture, and that's exactly what it was. It didn't occur to me that you could get hurt in more ways than one. And then- then I'm lying there bleeding and thinking of you and- and _fuck_ , suddenly I was scared for me too."

Ethan hiccups. He squeezes his eyes shut and tears leak from under both lids.

"All I wanted was my brother," Cal says. "You know, you fix me, Ethan. That's what you've always done. That's what you're meant to do. But where were you? Where the fuck were you? You know, if you're going to be mad at me, then I can be just as mad at you."

He pauses. He longs for a reaction. He'd give anything to see his brother stand and direct a fist towards him. But there's nothing. Of course there's nothing. As far as Ethan's concerned, he's not even here.

"God, I hate this. This is some kind of sick punishment, yeah? I have to watch how much I've hurt you without even the chance to put it right?" He stares at the damp patch on the sofa created by Ethan's tears. "I was going to look after you. I was going to be the big brother you need. And I promise Ethan, I didn't give up easily. I tried to fight it. I tried to stay alive for you.

"But that's me, the perpetual screw up. You know that. And I know you're sick of hearing my apologies when it's too late to make a difference. But I am sorry. I'm sorry I didn't keeping fighting long enough for us to get our goodbye. I'm sorry I left you without telling you how much you mean to me. And that I love you. And that I've spent most my life in awe of you. I'm sorry I won't be there when you get sick. I'm sorry I broke the one promise I intended to keep, when I said you've got me for life. I'm just sorry, little brother. I'm sorry for all of it."

* * *

Ethan's phone keeps ringing and ringing and it never gets answered and rarely gets looked at. And Cal longs to answer the call himself and shout at whoever's at the other end, beg them to get their arse to the flat, drag his little brother out of bed and force him to eat his standard two Weetabix.

But he's never going to be able to shout at anyone again.

When Ethan sits up, Cal thinks they might be getting somewhere. But Ethan just stares. There are no tears in his eyes now, just a raw hopelessness, and dry, red bags underneath. His lips are chapped and his jaw is speckled with uneven blonde stubble. There's a neatly hung suit on the wardrobe at the end of his bed and Ethan stares at it as if it's a ghost.

Ethan's phone rings again and Cal's almost proud when his brother leans across and terminates the call rather than letting it ring out. But then Ethan runs a hand through his greasy hair and releases a deep, shaky sigh.

"Leave me alone," he mutters. "I know it's today. Doesn't change a thing."

"You are going, right?" Cal demands.

He gets his answer in the form of his little brother throwing himself back down on his mattress and pulling the duvet cover up over his head. Cal waits for the heart-breaking cries that he'll never become used to, but instead the mound under the covers becomes still and silent.

"Ethan, you can't miss my fucking funeral!"

There's no response and Cal wishes he had a way to get through to his brother, even if it involved chucking cold water over the bed or grabbing his ankle and pulling until he was on the floor.

"Get up," Cal tells his brother. "Have a shower, have a shave. Go and tell the world how great I was."

Even though Cal knows his words are in vain, he watches the bed in hope.

And then there's a thump, the sound of a hand against a springy mattress, and Ethan crawls out from beneath the covers. He drags his legs over the side of the bed; his body slumps, a stray tear escapes. He balls his fists and holds them against his eyes and takes one deep breath after another, after another, then shakes his head to compose himself.

And he makes it as far as the bathroom.

Cal's never minded that their bathroom mirror is directly opposite the door. But the first thing Ethan sees is his own reflection, his blotchy skin, his bloodshot eyes. And Ethan stares in the mirror as if he's never seen himself before. And perhaps he hasn't, not like this. Perhaps seeing the misery on his face makes it all the more palpable. And after a few seconds his lips tremble and his brows dip and he launches a fist at the glass panel.

The mirror smashes noisily but it's the sound of Ethan's howl which echoes around the room.

Cal watches the blood ooze across his little brother's knuckles, as it begins to drip onto the tiles. And it's a safe amount of blood, it really is, but he wants to grab Ethan's hand and hold it in the air and wrap a thick wad of bandages tightly around it. He can't bleed out, he _can't_.

Ethan's eyes are damp but he watches the trickle of blood with fascination, his mouth slightly open as if he can't believe what just happened. And, as if to double check, he reaches out with his good hand and smears the bubbles of blood up his arm. He rotates his wrist and another drop of blood splashes the floor.

That snaps him out of his trance.

"Oh gosh, oh gosh," Ethan says. He drops to his knees and grabs the end of the toilet roll and begins hastily scrubbing the floor. The blood thins but crimson smudges remain across the usually pristine white tiles. "No, no, no," he stammers, "no."

He stares at the mess in front of him, shards of glass, smears of blood, crumbling tissues. Then his shoulders shake and a gulping sob is expelled from his mouth. "I can't do it," he whimpers. "I can't-" He claps a hand over his mouth and it's the same hand that's still leaking blood. "Oh, Cal. Caleb. What am I going to do?"

"You're going to go to my funeral, you idiot," Cal says softly.

* * *

Ethan arrives late, without his glasses and with speckles of blood still around his right cuff. Cal thinks his suit, the same black suit he's worn for years, suddenly looks too big. And that Ethan, always smart, always presentable, somehow looks less like himself now than he did at home in his pyjamas.

Everyone's gaze is on Ethan. Everyone's. And he stumbles to the empty front pew, the place that has been left for him alone, for the most bereaved: the brother. Charlie's hand arrives on his shoulder and squeezes him a little too tight, though Cal's not sure his brother even noticed. Alicia wipes a tear from her cheek and whispers a quiet greeting that goes unanswered.

And Ethan just gulps and stares straight ahead of him and holds himself stiffly as if he's scared if he moves at all, he'll crumple to the floor.

But when Ethan stands to deliver the eulogy, he clings onto the stand and manages to keep himself upright, despite his body trembling and his voice doing the same.

"Um, thank you," Ethan says. He looks all around the room but doesn't meet anyone's eyes. "Thank you for coming. I'm sure Cal would, um, appreciate you being here. He liked to be the centre of attention." Ethan attempts a smile but his chin is shaking far too much for it to be a success.

"My brother has been called a hero," Ethan continues. "And I keep hearing how he was a good man, a good doctor, and all of that's true, but it's not all that was Cal." Ethan pauses to wipe a tear from his eye. "My brother was a show off, a party animal, a flirt; it's no secret that he liked his women."

A small murmur of laughter comes from the congregation and Cal sincerely hopes Ethan is about to continue with how much the women liked him.

"He was reckless," Ethan says, "he was argumentative, he acted first and thought later. And it was those things- it was those things that got him killed."

The room is almost silent now except for the sound of sniffing and tissues dabbing at eyes.

"But he was protective." Ethan's voice is quiet. "He was loyal. He was- he _is-_ my brother, and I love all of those things about him."

Cal watches as Ethan's forehead creases. Tears trickle from both of his eyes but he seems to have given up trying to keep them at bay. Cal knows he could call out without interrupting anything, tell Ethan he loves him too, but for the first time he finds he just wants to listen, not speak.

"I want my big brother back," Ethan says. His voice breaks. Someone somewhere emits a high pitched sob. "I want him back arguing with me, poking fun at me, making my coffee all wrong and stealing the hearts of the girls I like. I want to hear his laugh. I want to see him smirk when I moan at him for making a mess. I want to talk to him about our past, the things that nobody else but him could get."

Ethan's mouth wobbles, contorts into a straight line. "But if any of those things were possible, we wouldn't be here today." He takes a shuddering gasp and furiously dabs at his cheeks as if he's only just realised they are wet. "And so I just want to say to all of you, we need to honour Cal's memory. We need to be more Cal. We need to enjoy life while we can, be brave, be headstrong, take every opportunity we get.

"Because, um, one of the last things Cal said to me was that life's too short. And then- then he learned the hard way that that was true. So Caleb, if you're listening, it _was_ too short. It was too bloody short. And I hate that you've gone. I- I hate that you've left me. But I just need you to know, it may have been short, but I'm proud that you were my brother. And, through everything, I always loved you, and though whatever may come, I will never stop loving you."

Cal feels like his world is dissolving. He feels like he's not there. And yet, he feels more alive than he has since he's died. It's been the perfect torture created for him, watching his brother sob and shout and fall to pieces, but he hasn't cried. He hasn't known how. Yet now there's dampness around him and aching, heavy limbs and a metallic taste and everything is going in and out of focus.

And then he sees Ethan. And his brother's looking directly at him.

And then his world fades to white.


End file.
